Fang and Talon
by TonyLogan
Summary: A Chaos warband is formed. Can they get along long enough to prosper?


**Fang and Talon: part 1**

Captain Vulgutch spoke into the comm device, "Turn around now, Graykyth.

Return the sphere, and I will be merciful."

"No! I've waited for an opportunity like this for millennia! Now I have the weapon. I'll be

in charge!" Laughter echoed over the comm.

The pirate's sister Derasyrr grabbed at his dark green shoulder armor, "We aren't sure

what's inside this damned sphere, Graykyth. It says the device time-halted the sphere eighty years

ago by Lord Vect himself."

"Don't you understand? This is _our_ moment. Whatever kind of weapon is trapped in

there, it was too dangerous for one of the most feared pirates in history. Vulgutch will be

 _our_ slave once we unleash it on him! That's how you get your own Kabal. You take it."

The renegade's grav skiff sliced through the air as it dodged dark lance blasts. Captain

Vulgutch pursued in his own personal grav skiff, yet the weapons and shielding loadouts made it

heavier and unable to match the renegde vehicle's speed. He had to rely on his own

manipulation and guile if he was to catch the betrayers. This was to be Captain Vulgutch's prize.

The coordinates were stolen by his very own hand years earlier. Vect murdered the wrong

mutineers over the incident. Now, decades later, he may lose it. Being betrayed by his own crew.

The Captain's voice came over the comm, "I have to say, you've impressed me,

Graykyth. Your cunning and ingenuity deserve to be rewarded. Not punished. You should slow

down a bit and let's talk about this. No reason for you and Derasrr to both die. Your own ship, your

own Kabal."

Derasyrr slammed her hand down on the ship's control panel, "Don't listen to him. He's

lying through his fangs."

Air fizzled as it evaported around the dark lance blast. It grazed the side of the skimmer atomizing

the port rear armor completely.

The vehicle rocked back and forth while black smoke leaked from the rear. The young traitor knew he

couldn't keep running, and he had the weapon after all, "Let's

hear him out." He grabbed the controls, spinning the skiff around

and coming to a stop.

Both brother and sister grabbed their pistols and aimed them at the Pirate King.

Vulgutch's skiff breezed by and spun around came to a slow floating creep.

"Graykyth, you and your sister, need to be smart about this. Turn over the sphere to

me, and we can talk about your promotion."

Vulgutch slowly placed his pistol on the deck and held his hands up. His tone and cadence were slow and calm the whole time.

The pair continued to level their pistols at the archon while he spoke.

Underneath the vehicles, two incubi climbed across the ship's underbellies,

ready to strike the two traitors down.

"So upon relinquishing the activation rune, you'll be known as Graykyth of the

Obsidian Fist. How does that sound," The archon asked with a vulpine smile.

"And my sister?"

The pirate's eyes glanced past the two renegades and nodded.

Graykyth had only a split second to see the Incubi's attack. Before he could react, his neck's main artery was severed.

In seconds the deck around him was sprayed in his blood while his body flailed.

Derasyrr eyes welled up as she clenched the activator rune in her hand. Her other hand fired the

splinter pistol at the bodyguard. Nine shards out of ten round burst left the pistol. The Incubi

spun and juked past the needles before removing the female's arm, with a lightning speed

slash. Behind them, a loud humming noise grew louder and louder coming from the sphere.

Derasyrr screamed as a blast of smoke and light escaped the machine. Through the smoke, blue and gold trimmed armor

stepped out of the uncontained time. Two red glowing eyes locked with the Incubi. The bodyguards froze in place.

Pink and black cranial liquids flowed from their helmets visors before both fell over dead.

The Archon dove to the steering panel and went to activate it when the Chaos

Sorceror held out his hand and spoke, "Stop."

Robbed of his will, Vulgutch was now an involuntary servant of Tzeentch.

From underneath his adorned helmet, a booming voice spoke, "I am Phaedor of the

Thousand Sons. You belong to me now. You will take me to your command ship. From there we

head to Delirium. A pleasure planet in the Shikata system."

The Kabal leader wanted more than anything to fulfill his master's commands as he

piloted the skiff back to his ship.

 **#####**

After a long arduous journey, through a raging warp storm, the Dark Eldar craft landed

on the pleasure planet known as Delirium. The Archon's eyes were wide as he studied the

monitors, "This seems like a place ripe for enslaving, my lord."

The Sorcerer walked toward the main exit, "You will not be enslaving anyone, Vulgutch.

Sell all that you own, this ship, and your crew to any bidder and turn the receipts over to me.

Thank you for your loyalty."

"Certainly, my lord."

Every inch of the city was covered in excessive inscriptions, huge garish statues, or reflecting mirrors. The

smells of citrus fruits, vanilla incense, and scented creams filled the Thousand son's nostrils till

he thought he might have to use a rebreather. Voluptuous dancers half nude male and female dancers spun and

twisted all around him as he made the trek across to the Cathedral of Bliss. It had been eighty

years since the sorcerer had visited this planet and in that time the whole place had gotten more

gaudy and shallow. Brass and silver trumpets blew inside the cathedral as he entered. Bells chimed with every step he took.

At the top of the Pristine Pinnacle Pyramid, sat Narsissian Arellius Falconda Dominico.

Former Emperor's Children Chosen, now smut peddling cult leader. Purple highlights

tipped the bottom edges of his otherwise stark-white waist length hair. His left ear and eyebrow

had tiny platinum and golden spikes pierced through them. Draped in a pink and violet robe with

very little else on, he looked down, blinked, and rubbed his eyes.

With a drunken slur he spoke, "Phaedor, is that really you?"

"Yes Narsissian, it's me."

One of The Slaaneshi guards in pink armor stepped forth with a double bladed staff and

yelled, "You will address our god by all his titles! The Indescribable Sultan of Pleasure. The

Author of a Thousand and Four Lust postures. Salacious Explorer of All The Forbidden Pink

Lamentations. The Insatiable Collector of-"

"It is fine, Drangos...he's an old friend. We don't need all the ceremony," Narsissain said

climbing down from the white sandstone pyramid.

"Of course, My Lord," Drangos said falling back into formation.

"So, Phaedor, last I heard of you, Vect killed you. That was like fifty years ago..."

"Not killed. Only delayed. I'm back now, and wish to get a warband together and retake

our position in the universe."

"A lot has happened since your...time off, Phaedor."

The Thousand Son watched as two daemonettes danced into his view with an insectoid looking alien.

They caressed its body, licked it's bulbous eyes, then tore it to shreds, and then consumed it.

Phaedor's stoic gaze took the murder in, "I see that. Are you suggesting that you aren't up to

it? That you would instead stay here and what? Continue being the god of sitting on his ass?"

One of the Daemonettes stood up, her face covered in gore. Her eyes fixed on the

sorcerer. As she approached, her serpentine tongue lapped the blood from her face.

Phaedor watched the mixture of alien beauty and horrid beast with unimpressed contempt. It reached over, rubbing

it's long claw across his face, drawing the smallest drop of blood. The traitor marine's body sang with sensations

he had long ago forgotten were possible. A smile spread across his face and his eyes glowed,

as he struck down the monster with his force sword. In a puff of pink dust and smoke, it was

banished back to the warp.

"Don't take it out on my daemons, Phaedor," The Slaanesh cultist laughed, "Okay. So _if_ I go with you,

I need something in return."

"Certainly. Name it."

"I command this warband we assemble, and we honor _She Who Thirsts_ with this crusade. None of your

trickster god silliness."

The Chaos Chosen pondered all the implications of this request, both obvious and

steeped in the cultist's double speak. The last thing Phaedor needed was Slaanesh's glory being passed

onto Narsissain. He becoming a Daemon Prince during the crusade. The cultist of pleasure was

finicky enough under normal circumstances. On the other hand, he only had a short range ship

back with the Dark Eldar Pirate. He was stuck.

"Okay, Narsissain. Once we have the warband together we'll consecrate it in the glory

of Slaanesh, but _I_ run this warband.

Phaedor hoped maybe one of them would die before then. Another rare smile as he

shook the hand of his partner in crime.

"I just need to pack. Won't take more than a few days," Narsissain said skipping away.

Phaedor sighed, shook his head and slashed the other daemonette down.

 **#####**

Aboard the "Highest Temptation," Narsissian's cruiser, Phaedor meditated in his

chambers, despite the ear shattering electric string music being pumped into the

halls at random intervals. The sorcerer spread his consciousness across the reaches of black

space, searching all manner of vile and vicious chaos rulers, in an attempt to fill out his

warband.

There was The Walking Wound, a particularly disgusting Nurgle warlord, who had

enslaved four planets and transformed all inhabitants into vile walking corpses. Phaedon was not looking

forward to spending time in close quarters with rotting flesh and stepping in slimy puss trails.

No Thank you. The sorcerer felt something...a lone consciousness

aboard a ship. This warrior rested inside an asteroid field near the settlement of Gharl. No lone person,

chaos or otherwise could command an entire cruiser by their self. And yet…

The Thousand Son woke from his astral journey and walked out into the hall corridor.

Phaedor struggled with each step towards the command bridge. Both his hands held

tight against the sides of his skull. Barely protecting his throbbing eardrums from bursting a third

time.

On the bridge, Narsissian nodded wildly with each strum his noise marines unleashed.

Both marines long since deafened by the molecule rending sonic blasts.

The Thousand Son took a deep breath and tried to quiet the raging fury in his head as

he removed his hand from his skull long enough to blast both noise marines into lumps of pink

and purple sludge. As the room grew quiet, he could see Narsissian jump from his captain's

chair and yell in protest. Mercifully, The Sorcerer's eardrums had not yet knitted together

enough for him to hear the reprimands.

Within a few beloved minutes of silence, the first echoes of sound returned, and the

chaos marine could now hear the Emperor's children's chosen whining about his men.

Phaedor dismissed these protests and pulled up a holomap.

"I have reason to believe another worthy member of our band can be found at these

coordinates. Take the ship here, Narsissian."

The cult leader looked over the map, "This is an asteroid belt in the middle of a dead

system. Why would anyone of note be there?"

"Maybe they are hiding? Is it possible they are stranded? We won't know until we get

there."

"So they are cowards, incompetent, or dying? Great selection. Can't wait to meet them."

Phaedor hit the control panel, "Take us there. I know it is the place."

"Fine, we are underway. If I crash this ship in that asteroid field, we may join your

stranded savior."

"Just get us there."

 **#####**

Gold rimmed micro-thrusters carefully shifted the hull of the Highest Temptation port side

as the largest asteroid slid by. For all of Narsissian's boasts, he was an extremely gifted pilot.

Slipping an object the size of a cruiser into a small asteroid field, even with the cultist co-pilot's

assisting was difficult. The defense shields reflected the smaller, undodgeable debris.

"We have a limited time. We can't stay inside this debris field indefinitely before we are

pecked to death," Narsissian said, "Best get to it."

Phaedor stood on the old astropath's sensor. A relic of a time when pre-chaos aligned

needed protection from the tumultuous currents of the warp. The Thousand Son was searching

for the flickering presence he had felt hours earlier. He expanded his consciousness again in a

looping pattern extending to one side and sweeping across to the other. Vigilant to any energy

change among the tons and tons of rock ore and ice. A small dancing light appeared in the

sorcerer's senses.

"Move toward the rotating half-blackened asteroid, Narsissian. It is there."

The Slaanesh chosen slithered the large ship through the broken rocks. Rubble pounded

off the hull making an irregular beating sound. The cultists began to harmonize across the

bridge's deck. The large metal skulls with the yellow and black lines marked it as an Iron Warrior

ship.

Phaedor opened his eyes and yelled, "Quiet. All of you!"

He stepped off the platform and made his way to the large viewscreen, just as the huge

pitted warship came into view.

"That's it. A powerful champion of the dark gods rests in there."

Narsissain sighed,"In that derelict hulk? You'll be lucky if damned Tyranids haven't

infested it."

"You aren't coming," Phaedor asked

"Aboard that deathtrap? No. I respectfully decline," Narsissian smirked.

"You're not curious? Hmmmm...well I guess any glory will be for the Lord of Change.

Maybe next time Slaanesh."

The chaos sorcerer marched for the bridge exit. One by one the Slaaneshi cultists

looked at each other and then to their lord. Narsissian thought about the possible glory he could miss by staying

aboard his cruiser. Slaanesh was surley watching. He jumped up, and snatched up his power

rapier. "Is something wrong with your eyes, servants"

The Dreadclaw dug it's grappler talons securely onto the side of the large ship's hull.

Multilasers sliced an opening for the Chaos marines and the small compliment of cultists.

Flickering red caution lighting was all the illumination there was inside the cargo bay. The

cultists spread out in a U pattern armed with whatever weapons they preferred. Underslung

minilights shined off two of the teams rifles, allowing for better line of sight.

"I told you, Phaedor, this ship's dead. There is no great chosen of chaos here, besides

myself, of course," the Emperor's Champion gave out a laugh.

At the end of a long hallway, the hiss of passdoors opening reverberated through the

large room.

"We have some movement here, My Lord," the lead cultist yelled.

Narsissian and Phaedor benefited from low light vision, even without their helmets HUD

screens. The Slaaneshi leader looked down the hall and already knew it was too late for his

men.

"Murder-servitors," He said as he reached for his sonic blaster on his back.

The cultists drew their weapons, some injected chemicals into their systems, and some

cut on their flesh to get a quick flash of adrenaline before all of them charged the servitors.

A fast, gore-filled melee began in the center of the hallway. Lobotomized humans with

razor, drills, hammers, and projectile weapons grafted to any free part of their flesh fought the

followers of Slaanesh. From the piles of wiggling dismembered limbs and heads to the blood

soaked walls the remaining Murder-servitors continued. Their number dropped from twenty-five

to eleven in the exchange that ended all fifteen of the cultists, but those were acceptable

numbers to the Chaos Marines.

Phaedor extended his hand and send a crackling wave of psychic ferocity down the hall,

obliterating any and all the servitors it touched. No hesitation was seen from servitors despite

their numbers being halved again.

Narsissian cocked his weapon and nodded to Phaedor. Phaedor shook his head and

raised his hands to his ears while stepping away. The sonic weapon focused its destructive

cacophony at the enemy. Literally vibrating and rending all the connective tissue in the flesh

portions of the servitors into liquid gore. The remaining metal constructs fell to the ground

writhing until their remaining power wore out.

With a huge smile and fanged grin, Narsissian slung his weapon over his back and held

out his hands motioning Phaedor to press on.

A few more encounters with murder servitors only momentarily slowed the two Chaos

marines from making it to the bridge. The door was reinforced but heavily damaged. Jagged

tears and long gouges were visible. Phaedor blasted it with a few psychic bolts, battering it

open. The normal spacious area a command bridge of a Mars constructed cruiser was instead

filled with huge amounts of additional machines, data screens and holoprojectors.

Phaedor and Narsissian ducked and meandered around the huge cybercoffin.

Narsissian smiled and spun his rapier in his hand and held it at the chest of the warrior.

Suddenly, an airlock on the opposite side opened. The Slaaneshi warrior startled dropped his

sword and was sucked down the adjacent hallway and out into space.

Phaedor maintained his grip on a nearby bulkhead. Inside the metal tomb laid an Iron Warrior,

or at least the modified armor of one. Very little flesh remained. Phaedor closed both fists and sealed the door with

telekinesis.

"There aren't any supplies left. Nor any artifacts of note for you to plunder."

"I'm not here to plunder your ship, Iron Warrior," Phaedor said.

"Most of the resources have been spent flushing out an Ork pirate raid months ago.

Nothing of any note remains."

Phaedor studied the mechanisms, power couplings, and electro-interfaces surrounding

the warrior, "That isn't true. I've come for you. What's your name?"

"You aren't worried about your partner?"

The Thousand Son looked over at the monitors and saw the chaos warrior climbing back

onto the ship and smiled at his partner's misfortune, "Okay, let him back in, please."

A door on the same portside opened and Narsissian climbed over toward it.

"My name is Bathous. My ship is The Destructor. I lost my crew in a territory dispute with

a follower of the plague lord. His contagions tore into my marines and cultists even after we had

destroyed his warriors and ships. I had long ago lost most of my biological facets. As I felt the

remaining ones begin to attack me, I injected myself with the Obliterator Virus in an attempt to

preserve my mind. I found that it not only protected me from the Nurgle infestation, I could

concentrate and shape parts of my metal body."

"You set up this bridge, so the ship is all run from here? That is extraordinary," Phaedor

said.

"Servitors assisted me in the beginning, but once the Orks found me, help became

harder and harder to maintain."

Phaedor moved some of the wires around with his hand, "Can you get out of there?"

"No. In one of battles Mekboy got in and disconnected my body. I had to short out a

third of my capacitors to kill him and have been trapped here ever since."

"I have an offer I would like you to hear out, Bathous," Phaedor said with a smile.

 **#####**

Aboard The Emperor's Children ship, Narsisian screamed, "I can't believe you didn't

destroy him for almost killing me!"

"You are being over dramatic, Nars. You could survive for hours in the vacuum of

space," Phaedor said.

"Yes, but he dented my platemail. This is arium-latos in my shoulder guards. Do you see

this gouge? Do you have any idea how much this costs?"

Narsissian could see that the Thousand Son had already tuned him out. Clamorous

steps were heard from the adjacent hallway. When the door slid open, Bathos stood there

blocking much of the hallway. He cautiously stepped onto the bridge. His body was a maze of

interlocking components, twisting and morphing into more manageable and humanoid shapes.

"It will take some getting used to constantly holding my body into this form, but I will

manage," Bathous' artificial voice projector said.

"No! Not on MY ship," Narsissian screamed and drew his sonic blaster on Bathous.

Bathos quickly grabbed the end of the blaster in Narsissian's hand. A growth appeared

on Bathous shoulder and in seconds, formed into an identical sonic blaster save for the

shoulder mount. Now both combatants had the same weapon drawn on each other. Phaedor

stepped in between the two of them and spoke, "Stop this. Both of you. We can not fight with

each other. If we do we lose."

Bathous spoke, "I have no quarrel with Narsissian, but I will defend myself at any cost."

Phaedor looked at Narsissian. The Slaaneshi warrior shook his head, " This is my ship. I

will not have him breaking, wrecking, or absorbing any of it."

"That is fair," Phaedor said, "Now, we need another member. I will meditate and return

with guidance from Tzeentch."

"Wait. I know of one. A follower of Khorne. Stranded on the planet of Kranus."

"How do you know of this berzerker," Phaedor asked.

"He made planetfall three months ago. I know because I received the hundreds of

distress calls from the planet afterward while trapped in my ship."

"How do you know he's still there. Maybe they killed him if there are that many people-"

"No. I received the last distress call. It was a small group of survivors that had barricaded

themselves into a shelter. In the background you can hear the chain weapon cutting through the

armor stated that he had killed everyone else and had spent the last four days

cutting through the plating to get to them. Apparently he had worn down multiple chainaxes

getting through the plate. I heard him beating them to death in the last call before the room went

silent except for heavy breathing.

Narsissian stood with his jaw slack.

Phaedor smiled, "Excellent. We must have him."

Bathous walked over to a monitor and projected a holomap into the middle of the bridge.

"After we acquire this Berzerker, I have another stop that may prove useful."

Narsissian walked over and looked at the holomap," What do you mean, Iron Warrior?"

"In the Frang system, I have also intercepted a transmission from an alien settlement

that apparently pays tithes to a local Rogue Trader. We could show up and collect the tithes and

maybe take slaves. It is unlikely that these Tau know that we aren't loyalist Astartes. If they

have only dealt with this Rogue Trader."

"What is the Rogue Trader's name, Bathos," Narsissian asked.

"Hold on," The Iron Warrior scanned through his digital memory, "Belmont. Aleister

Belmont is the Rogue Trader's name," The Iron Warrior replied.

"Do you know this person," Phaedor asked.

"Actually yes. He is no threat. Nothing to worry about. An old ship and a handful of xenos renegades," The Slaaneshi warrior replied.

"Good. Then let us collect this berzerker and meet the Xenos," The Thousand Son said

pointing to the planet Kranus.


End file.
